


Somebody to Love

by yellowturtle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:38:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowturtle/pseuds/yellowturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"”Did you happen to misplace your grace as well as the trench? Or was it you who caused the meteor shower? Either way, how tragic,” Crowley drawled.</p>
<p>"And you’re imprisoned in the Winchesters’ dungeon," Castiel countered calmly.</p>
<p>Touché."</p>
<p>A fallen Castiel pays a visit to the King of Hell, who is still chained in the Winchesters' basement. Sarcasm and bitterness ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somebody to Love

"Somebody, oh somebody. Can anybody find me somebody to love. Oooo."

Crowley sang absently under his breath, slumped over in the stiff aluminum chair. 

“Got no feel, I got no rhythm. I just keep losing my beat. I’m ok, I’m all right. I ain’t gonna face no defeat." Hey, he needed to keep himself occupied in between his failed escape attempts."I just gotta get out of this prison cell, someday I’m going to be free, Lord."

The heavy door cracked open slightly as he hummed the guitar solo. Crowley started into full alertness.

It had better not be another assassination attempt from that wretched little prophet. Last time was much too close a call for comfort, and at the very least the King deserved better than to be taken down by a pint-sized twerp, even after losing his crown.

But standing before Crowley was someone very much  _not_  Kevin Tran.

"Castiel,"  he exclaimed, hiding his surprise rather convincingly he thought. "Finally free of your kiddie-fiddler coat, I see. Good for you."

Perhaps he was too accustomed to the tan Columbo look, but the new plaid flannel looked utterly out of place and ridiculous. Why plaid? Always so much plaid? It was as if the Winchesters developed a virulent plaid disease and transmitted it to unlucky little Cas. 

"Hello, Crowley," said the… the human? 

Crowley smirked. Even in his present situation, it was deeply satisfying to see his old frenemy knocked down a few pegs. He vaguely knew that something terrible happened to the angels and heaven…  _Oh_ , this was  _good_. ”Did you happen to misplace your grace as well as the trench? Or was it you who caused the meteor shower? Either way, how tragic,” he drawled.

"And you’re imprisoned in the Winchesters’ dungeon," Castiel countered calmly.

Touché.

”Surely you’re not here to stab me in the back  _again_ , are you? I’ve had quite enough of that from the bloody prophet.” He kept his tone urbane but flippant, as he always did. The relief of finally receiving a visitor had quickly given way to good old-fashioned paranoia and fear, but there was no reason to let this show. 

"I’m here to apologize."

…To apologize?

"To apologize," Crowley repeated stupidly, dumbstruck. "You’re…  _You_ are apologizing to me?”

"I did wrong by you. We made a deal and I broke it." The demon searched for a trace of mockery in Castiel’s face. Nope, the stupid pretty-boy looked as solemn and humourless as usual. Huh.

"You certainly did, you entitled prat," he mumbled, content not to dwell. God forbid they had a  _moment._  ”Let me go and we’ll call it even.”

The former angel gave him a small frustrated eye roll. “ Of course. I’m sure Sam and Dean will completely understand why I freed their dangerous hostage. Your request is totally reasonable.” 

Oh joy, Castiel had perfected the human art of sarcasm. Crowley didn’t like it.

He briefly considered asking for Abaddon’s head on a plate. 

"Could you at least bring me a radio, do you think? I’d call us square then," he said instead. He bit his tongue before he blurted out  _please_  or  _I’m begging you_ , or  _help me_ _I’m going stark raving mad in here._

For a flash, the poor angelic(ish) man seemed so bloody relieved and grateful it verged dangerously into the territory of very very sad, and that came from a demon slowly driven insane from solitude and boredom. How starved of forgiveness did an individual have to be to care about the opinion of fallen despots like Crowley?

"Yeah," Castiel muttered softly." I could find a radio."

Losing his grace apparently also made him more difficult to resent. Crowley didn’t like it even more.

He shuffled uselessly against his bonds, more out of habit than any real expectation of loosening them. "So why the sudden interest in my good opinion, hmm?"

"I don’t know. I suppose we were both peons grasping for more power than we could hold. Now we are being punished. I can relate to your situation." As expected, Castiel went straight for the earnest, tragic, noble angle.

Crowley snorted rudely. "Don’t be daft." .

"Sorry?"

"Does it make you feel better to think that? That you did it for power?" A voice in his head screamed to back the hell off, and the bastard might change his mind and stab him in the face, and why would he scare off his only chance at obtaining a radio? "I’m the one who sought power. I contributed the plan and the ambition. You were weak."

But lashing out felt so great. He could almost pretend he still held a modicum of control.

"I don’t know what you mean," Castiel squinted.

"This is the problem with you lot of naive idiots. You need a reason to live. Daddy was gone, so you went flailing about for a reason to justify your existence, and you latched on Dean Winchester instead. Terrible,  _terrible_ choice.”

Against expectations, Castiel didn’t bolt for the door. "I needed to stop Raphael," he explained stubbornly, hands curling into fists.

But Cas spent his days running around out in the real world, Crowley thought enviously, and thus he was too busy to dwell on anything in depth. He didn’t stand a chance against the fermented bitterness of a demon with nothing else to do but stew in a cesspool of old grudges and sketchy escape ideas.

Crowley made a mental list of the ammunition that lined the walls of his angry little brain, and picked something sharp that Cas wouldn’t see coming.

"Sweetheart, I  _saw_  you. Do you forget I was right there at the time? You were creeping on Squirrel back when he was spectacularly failing at carving himself a cutesy normal life.” The angel’s face was a very very sad sight back then too, but a few years ago it wouldn’t have occurred to Crowley to give a damn. “Surely you remember the pathetic way you stared at Dean while he raked his leaves, like an excerpt from a bloody romance novel. It was quite hard to stomach.”

From the widening of Castiel’s eyes, the short intake of breath, the fear, he could tell the idiot didn’t know. He probably thought this particular memory was safe, thumbed over by only him. Crowley had taken something secret and whole and ripped it to shreds with his demon taint, and it felt not quite as satisfying as he imagined, but almost.

"Ever wonder why I hit you with my offer exactly then?" Crowley marched on in the hopes of trampling his own uncharacteristic hesitation. "I  _knew_  you would be weak. And your pets, I assume they never learned your motivations. I, on the other hand, sold sins for centuries. I can read people’s lapses and vulnerabilities, and I know exactly what they’ll damn themselves for.” 

Though maybe he miscalculated just how far a desperate seraph would be willing to go. So did all the other pieces on the chessboard. Soft, regretful, wishy-washy Castiel with his idealism and his fatal fondness for Dean Winchester had lulled them all into thinking he could easily be manipulated and dealt with. And maybe Crowley should’ve remembered he was dealing with a rogue angel. Love and implacable ruthlessness were one and the same for the soldiers of heaven. Maybe they all should have remembered, especially Raphael and Naomi. Yet there was none of that ruthless cruelty left in the unremarkable human wrapped in blue plaid and sadness.

Castiel swallowed hard, unable to look him in the eyes. A former God who treated resurrection like a hobby merited a less obvious tell, surely.

"You think I hold Dean to be more important than the world?" the poor man tried to sound  _defiant_ , as though he was capable of refuting it. What a laugh.

"Oh nooo, I would never." He piled on the sarcasm as thick and sticky as blood. "Dying to stop the apocalypse had  _nothing_  to do with Dean. He absolutely was not the catalyst.  _Twice_. Come on, you can admit it, you sold yourself like a cheap whore to spare him. It clearly wasn’t for power. You haven’t got enough sense to seek power.”

"No, I… But humanity…"

Crowley laughed, bitter and joyless. “Yes, this is your favourite line, is it not? Maybe you should take  _humanity_  with you and spend a few hours in the back of that ridiculous car. With handcuffs and romantic plaid sheets! Maybe blast some of the loud, clearly over-compensating rock music that _humanity_  likes. Replace the pompous stick up your arse with something more enjoyable, eh?”

Castiel turned on his heel and made for the door.

"Wait!" Crowley called, an odd guilt washing over him. "Do you want my real opinion? Truly?"

"No."

"Well tough, here it is anyway.Get. Rid. Of Dean. He’s not worth the world, and he’s not worth you." 

All right, so maybe Crowley developed a soft spot for the angelic clot. They _had_  been allies after all. And Castiel cared enough to apologize. Life didn’t destroy the man’s kind veneer just yet, and Crowley no longer wished to hammer the last nail in the coffin, not when all he expected from Cas was a radio and a few amends. But Dean Winchester, the cruel bastard, the selfish _infant_ , would demand much more. Dean would hand the hammer to Cas, would recklessly demand a sacrifice from a miracle, and Cas would happily smash himself.

"Castiel, just this once I’m being utterly honest," Crowley said gently. "It won’t happen again, so listen closely. That boy is  _no_  good for you. The second you opposed his petty wishes, he was ready to put you down like a rabid dog. And Sasquatch went along too.”

"They made the right call," Castiel replied stonily. "I was wrong."

The element of surprise was blunted, and the walls were up once more. Crowley was losing him.

"Darling, he didn’t have the authority to make such a decision. Would you do the same if he ignored your wishes? I doubt it. He’s a liability, is what he is. He’s not worth the dirt beneath your dapper new hunter boots, let alone your trust." 

"And you don’t want someone… something. You don’t want a cause, Crowley?"

The demon scoffed at the sudden change of subject. “Not in a million years. The only cause I serve is myself.” Frankly, avoiding that road was the only reason he was still alive. 

Castiel looked down. When he looked back up his gaze was indecipherable and his shoulders were squared, and with these few almost imperceptible changes he looked like an angel again. Just like that. The awesome weight of his non-existent wings fell on the floor of the dungeon. It seemed impossible to mistake him for anything other than an immense creature from the dawn of time, and Crowley couldn’t believe he’d ever appeared to be only a man.

"Maybe you’ve forgotten, but I literally possess millions of years under my belt," Castiel whispered dangerously low, and Crowley coldly realized the tables were turning. "Hundreds of millions more years than you can begin to comprehend. I carry eons of regrets on my shoulders. Choosing Dean is not one of them."

Crowley sputtered. His panic steadily increased until he felt as if Kevin Tran was pressing a knife on his throat once more. ”Look at you! You’re still an angel underneath all your trappings. You are above Dean Winchester. He’s nothing but a damaged, arrogant, serial killing ant!” 

"It’s better than having nothing." 

_Like you._ The unsaid words hung in the air for an increasingly awkward amount of time.

Touché again.

"I’m not an angel," Castiel finally continued. Irrationally relieved, Crowley swore he could feel the heavy shadow of the wings retracting back into nothingness. "I’m not better than the Winchesters. I never was. What I know is that if I were in danger, Dean would save me or die trying."

It wasn’t sadness on Castiel’s face anymore. It was pity. "I’m sorry, Crowley, but I’m the only one who came for you."

*****

Fine.

So maybe others had reasons to survive. Maybe Crowley didn’t.

But now he had a radio. It was a start, right?

"I hate this bloody song," Crowley growled to the inert piece of technology on the floor of the dungeon. Nicki Minaj reassuringly screeched something back about stupid hoes. It was almost like a conversation.

He closed his eyes and pretended not to be alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley singing a Queen song is a silly Good Omens reference.


End file.
